Sundered
by Malanore
Summary: Finding herself enslaved by the Lich King who sends his new pet to infiltrate the Alliance to discover the weaknesses among them. Yet unknown to him, her memories linger of prejudices and hate, not knowing the limits some would cross for another's soul.
1. Prologue

**Sundered  
****written by Malanore**

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Warcraft/World of Warcraft. I only own my characters and the events they endure.

_Author's Forward: I have attempted to stay true to lore where needed. That said, some liberties were taken regarding the differences in aging among races. I am fully aware that night elves, and most likely both blood and high elves as well, live for thousands of years. However, for the sake of context and plot for this story, their aging will instead mimic that of humans. Also, please keep in mind this story was developed towards the end of the Wrath of the Lich King expansion (Patch 3.3) so events wherein regarding Arthas, etc., have been taken into consideration. Lastly, the languages of Thalassian and Darnassian are used frequently and their meanings will be expressed accordingly. Please note that some translations are provided directly from Blizzard while others are loosely interpreted. _

_Enjoy!_

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_A/N: I felt this was necessary to set up the views needed to advance the story. If you are proficient in the history of the elves, outstanding, but please note that not all are so this portion gives insight to that part of Warcraft lore. For the latter, this is only a condensed version of the full story. If you wish to learn more, WoWWiki is an excellent source. __Now, on to the story! _

In ancient times, when the Gods themselves seemed young, there was but one race of _dorei_, or children. In the beginning there were no differences between them, their eyes all glowed with the same light, pure and yearning. The nourishment provided by the Titan-forged Well of Eternity enabled the young race to flourish. With their immortality and magical energies flowing through their veins, the elves established a grand society.

Yet after centuries of tranquility, the use of such magics had become so prevalent that it attracted the attention of the one known as the Destroyer of Worlds. Seeking to ever increase his own immense power, Sargeras reached out to the elves, claiming to be a god. Thus began the beginnings of what is known as the War of the Ancients, during which the first rift among the elves took root. Those born to the so-called nobility sought to eradicate their world of all those who they deemed unworthy to harness their beloved magics. Under the influence of Sargeras, and the leadership of the exquisite Azshara, these 'highborne' became corrupted with their own obsession for the arcane.

Eventually, the Burning Legion's defeat was had. Yet destruction on a massive scale was on the horizon. Swelled to the brink by the influx of magical energies, the Well of Eternity imploded, separating the lands and giving birth to the Maelstrom. Many lost their lives in this catastrophe. With so many deaths caused by the insatiable greed of the highborne, the remaining peoples, known now as 'Kal'dorei', or night elves, turned away from their arcane legacy, focusing instead on the intertwining fates of their people and their attunement with nature.

The few remaining high elves, unable to restrain the cursed addiction to the arcane, separated themselves from the new druidic society of their kin and settled in the golden woods of Quel'thalas. To replace their beloved Well of Eternity, as well as sate their thirst for magic, the Quel'dorei created the illustrious Sunwell. After some years, the high elves transformed into a diurnal society, replacing the light of Elune with the rays of the sun itself. As a result, their appearances took on the form of paler skin and slighter builds than their night elf counterparts.

Yet the creation of this new fount would ultimately doom the elves once more. Centuries passed, false senses of security befalling the civilization. Lulled by peaceful times, the arrival of the death knight Arthas Menethil and his scourge army overwhelmed them. His goal was to harness the mystic energies of the Sunwell to raise the necromancer Kel'thuazad as an undead lich to oversee the creation of vast armies by orders of the Lich King. The desolation of Quel'thalas and its people shook the survivors to the core. Thus the second rift among elves was to pass.

Tormented by their grief, the majority of the elves, including their prince Kael'thas, renamed themselves 'Sin'dorei', or blood elves, in honor of those lost to the Scourge. Weakened by the destruction of the Sunwell, Kael lead his people in search of energies that could sate their thirst. However, a small portion of them saw their dependence on magic as an omen for death and sorrow - as a weakness. They decided to reject their arcane ancestry and attempted to control their need for fel energies through meditation. Calling upon ancient alliances, the few remaining high elves abandoned their brethren, denying any relation to the addiction-crazed blood elves to any mortal who asked.

Thus, in the current day, the three races of _dorei_ view each other with resentment, claiming the others to be cursed or otherwise. The resulting heartache and grief caused by these prejudices is where the beginnings of the story between two wayward souls unfold.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One: Poisons and Ice**

In the farthest reaches of Northrend, at the heart of the expansive wastes where ancient lands now wreathed in torment, resided the looming spire of the Citadel. Against the harsh whispers of the frozen winds it stood, the forgotten damned imprisoned beneath the cold, wretched earth that was his domain.

Despite the howling escaping the souls of both elemental and mortal alike, the echoes of footsteps could be heard lingering throughout the icy halls. The eerie glow of the sconces within provided no warmth or comfort, their flame-casted shadows of little notice to the cloaked figure who passed beneath them.

Amongst twisted pillars of frozen metal, the thoughts of Lich King seemed just as rigid. The chains of his greaves rattled against the cold silence of the passage, vexed thoughts mirrored in the harshness of his steps. With news of defeat by the persistent insects of the Argent Crusade, his aggravation had indeed reached a new pinnacle.

One would have never dared to imagine they would be so…resilient. Yet for all his anger, a malicious smile played on his lips with the thought of sating Frostmourne's constant hunger with that insufferable paladin's soul.

This small amusement was short-lived however, as two geists slipped down from the shadows, crawling against the cold stone towards their master. Gangly creatures they were, slinking low and quick, fingers ever ready to pickpocket or strangle their victims, whichever came first.

"What is it?" the king demanded sharply. He had little time to deal with these worms at the present.

"Reportss…from Rhorwyn on the s…situations…at Naxxramasss…" whispered the fiend.

Arthas snatched the scroll from the crudely wrapped hands, "Why instead hasn't that accursed lich reported these events to me himself?" his steel blue eyes glaring at the single sickly orb of the geist.

"I knowss not my Lord."

He unraveled the parchment, peering over the statements written by a necromancer he had sent to aid in the development of new strains of plague at the necropolis. Apparently, a few Alliance rats had managed to infiltrate several quarters, doing considerable amounts of damage in the process.

Clenching the report into his fist, the Lich King dismissed the two ghouls without another word. He continued his path towards a pair of rune carved doors, throwing them open with a force. He climbed the steps and took his place atop the Frozen Throne, the scroll now but a crumpled mess within his grip.

_Damn them. Damn them all. How is it they managed to overcome the countless there? HOW? _Slamming his fist against the ice-ridden throne, a thought crept slowly into his mind.

_Perhaps quantity is not the answer. Not for this…"_Halaniar!"

A cerulean haired man appeared in an instant, as if he himself were made of nothing. Originally of blood elf descent, his pale face, now hallow and sunken, revealing scars, each etched with thousands of unspeakable horrors.

The death knight kneeled before his lord, "Yes, my master. What of your will might I do?"

"I need you to go to the upper chambers of the Crimson Hall. Go and persuade Sin'usthode to have an audience with me."

Halaniar's jaw clenched slightly at this command. "But my Lord…" his gaze traveling up to meet a cold glare. Deciding against rebuttal, he bowed low and replied,

"At once, sire."

Once alone, Arthas reflected on the death knight's initial response. It was to be expected. His little pet, known to those within the Frozen Halls simply as Sin'usthode, or Bloodraven, was not one who was easily cohersed.

His thoughts wondered at the sound of soft padding against the frigid marble traveling down the hall, the rhythmic sound entrancing him to recall the day this particular creature was first brought before him.

* * *

_The sounds of weapons and shields clashing filled the air. The fools of the Horde and Alliance alike had decided to descend upon the Wrathgate as if it were easy victory. The screams of Fordragon, claiming that the time was upon Arthas to yield to his so-called crimes, penetrated the fortress. 'How absurd,' mused the Lich King._

_The taste of his death against Frostmourne's steel excited the blade for more, and its wish was granted with the raged orcen blood from Saurfang, now twisted into one his more powerful commanders. One after another fell before the might of the Scourge. _

_Until that cursed apothecary of Sylvanas' unleashed the strain that destroyed all life within miles of the Wrathgate, even weakening Arthas himself. Enraged at such open display of betrayal, the Lich King retreated back within the citadel. _

_It was hours later that he learned that his darkened vry'kul had managed to capture a lone prey who was observing the battle from a top a ridge. Glad to have a new focus to generate his heightened rage towards, Arthas summoned his minions to bring it forth. _

_Soon the rattle of chains echoed up the spire as two mutilated abominations, some of the mad surgeon Putricide's finest work, brought forth the creature, bloodied and mangled, and forced it to grovel at the feet of their master. Arms intertwined with restraints held by each of the monstrosities, the kneeling body before him seemed lifeless. _

_Until she raised her head, emblazoned strands falling back to reveal defiant sapphire eyes._

* * *

_Those damned eyes…_ he mused. Perhaps it was that spark behind them that led him to make the choice that night. The Lich King was soon brought out of his trance as the side entrance to his chambers was opened and the very subject of his thoughts emerged. His little Sin'usthode_, _with that blasted beast of hers. Many had questioned his decision regarding his notion that her soul was to remain intact for the time being.

Not that she had been shown any favor at all. She endured the same brutalities all met, endless tortures and experimentation, when imprisoned in the icy fortress. If anything, because she chose to defy him with her willful soul seemed to make Arthas that much more determined to break it.

And by doing so, the Lich King believed that she would prove to be one of his most valuable servants. For too long had it proven that even those without souls could betray him when taken unwillingly. His theory was that if a champion with an intact soul would serve him willingly, their loyalty would be true one. But getting to that point proved a difficult one. Constant snarls from that beast and nothing more than a defiant glare from her persisted for what seemed ages. Yet the result was unquestionable.

Now with her unique position amongst his ranks, his pet could easily maneuver throughout the world without an ounce of suspicion from his enemies. And it was this particular trait that would serve him well with his current problem concerning the pillaging of Naxxramas.

As her blackened wolf paced restlessly behind her, the elven huntress stood, those once defiant eyes now iced over with coldness, before Arthas. He smirked as she crossed her arms in annoyance. "I do not appreciate you sending that scum to retrieve me. I would rather it a ghoul…though I must admit there's not much difference. For what reason am I here?"

Humoring her cheek for now, the Lich King tossed the rumpled parchment towards her, a glare slightly crossing his face when instead that damned wolf caught it and stalked towards his mistress. Consoling him, the she-elf unraveled the report and scoffed at what she read.

"So Rhorwyn can't even handle a few human ruffians now? He uses seem to dwindle daily."

"Apparently so," Arthas replied calmly. "This cannot continue, Sin'usthode_, _measures must now be taken that I previously wanted avoided."

Grimacing at his alias for her, she sneered, "and just what kinds of measures would require my services, _my lord_."

Deciding to banter with her sarcasm, a smile crossed his lips once more.

"One that only a lady whose allegiances that lie with King Varian and his alliance can perform."


	3. Chapter Two

_Sin'usthode: _(sin-us-tho-day); bloodraven

_belthore_: (bel-thor-eh); beast guardians for hunters

_kal'dorei:_ (kal-door-ray); night elf or children of the stars

_quel'dorei_: (kel-door-ray); high elf or children of noble birth

_sin'dorei: _(sin-door-ray); blood elf or children of the blood

**Chapter Two: Hell Hath No Fury**

Within the confines of the damp and dark ridges of the fjord, a screeching howl could be heard racing its way amongst the treacherous caverns. It blew atop one of the gangly pines, revealing amidst its branches a very disgruntled she-elf. Grudgingly she dug the head of a crimson fletched arrow deeper into the ashened bark, her thoughts lingering back to the source of her aggravation.

How dare he assume that she would unquestioningly obey his orders. While Arthas had always assigned her orders she deemed illogical or otherwise, the abrasive reasonings he uttered towards her as to why she must perform this task and she alone unearthed a fury within that threatened even her own rigid control.

Cursing under her breath, she lowered her gaze to the lichen covered ground, eyes trailing her massive belthore, Hayataro, as he paced rhythmically below, his darkened fur seeming to reveal him as nothing more than a shadow. It seemed to entrance her, causing her thoughts to travel back to moments prior to her departure from the citadel.

* * *

_"I never knew humor to be a quality of yours…it doesn't suit you," she scoffed._

_When his only reply was an amused smirk, the she-elf made her way towards the rune inscribed door that led to the outer halls, until a low voice chided her through the air. _

_"It would be wise not to disobey me Sin'ushtode…" _

_She whispered over her shoulder to her 'master', irritation drenching her tone, _

_"I've done what you've requested countless times before. Send one of you mindless heathens to gather your information so as not to waste my time."_

_"The recent grievances at Naxxramas prove the obvious that my 'mindless heathens', as you so eloquently stated, cannot handle these men. I need someone who can deal with the situation with….a more delicate touch."_

_An infuriated glare crossed her features at his insinuation, the contrast of her emblazoned hair seeming to intensify the now steeled blue hue in her eyes. _

_The insinuations of what he wished from her were insufferable. How dare he make such a request of her? _

_"I've refuse to accept any task that deals with such 'delicate touches'."_

_A low laugh echoed from the Scourgelord. He has expected as much from her and she was never one to disappoint. _

_"With your unique background combined with the predictable follies of the living, it will be all the more easier for you, my Sin'usthode." _

_Fury rising at his impudence for bringing up such matters, the huntress stormed forward, stopping only inches before him. As she met his gaze from beneath reddened strands, her voice suddenly became harsh and low, the words seething as if laced with acid. _

_"You believe that you may order me to immerse myself among the selfish and closed-minded masses while gambling with bastards whose only constructive speech pattern takes place over pillow talk?"_

_While Arthas was indeed enjoying her little display of rage, which was quite contrary to her usual cold demeanor towards him, her questioning of his orders and blatant proximity tested his patience. _

_"You overreact. The choice is yours to imply what resources you will, however I will not accept anything less than information that is key to eliminating those who have become a nuisance to my work. Am I understood Sin'usthode?"_

_The only reply the Lich King received was a low feral growl and the loud slamming of his chamber doors._

* * *

And that is how she came to be in this god-awful tree. It provided a a decent view of the road leading into the Alliance base of Valgarde.

Surely the ones who interfered at the necropolis would pass this way soon; it was the main port used by the humans and dwarves for journeying to and from the frozen north.

Once they arrived, she would employ the use of one the val'kyr to stage an attack against herself. If these warriors met the generalization of most of the Alliance, they would attack without question and try assist the assumed lady.

She cringed at the use of such a term. The titles of society had never been of importance to her, but for the sake of this assignment, she would endure it. It was to be expected of one of high elven birth. It was that part of her heritage that she must embrace if things were to go accordingly.

Hours passed, the sun appearing as little more than a golden shine behind the ridges surrounding the city. The huntress had sent Hayataro off to hunt, his mood haven worsened with each passing moment, as did his master's. As she reclined against the branches, sharpening the small blade she kept for close combat, the roaring of mounts passed her sensitive ears.

At last.

Clenching the small talisman within her pack, she summoned a val'kyr downward. Once it was within sight, the she-elf recognized the ethereal as Hildana. With a personality as foul as a dead crocolisk, the huntress was aware of the disdain this particular val'kyr held for her. Even if this was purely imitation, she still must be on her guard while crossing blows.

Normally it was her belthore who engaged an opponent in close range while she brought them down with precision from afar. It was necessary however for her to be seen overwhelmed by the battle-maiden, creating the initial response to aide her.

She smirked at the ethereal scourge landed before her, welcoming the challenge, knowing Hildana to be frivolously thorough.

* * *

With the sleek movements of its immense shoulders disturbing naught of the falling leaves from above, the traveling frostsaber little resembled the weariness of its rider. The distance between the Wyrmrest Temple in the midst of Dragonblight and the port city in Howling Fjord seemed longer each journey and were enough to tire even the most seasoned traveler at times. And tiresome was the perfect description of his most recent task.

While the night elf was more than obliging in completing orders that assisted in the cause of the Life-Bender, his recent venture inside the trenches of Naxxramas had proved to be a challenging one.

The developments of the strains of plague were of great concern to the Queen of Dragons since the days following the slaughters at the Wrathgate Angrathar. No doubt the Lich King, being weakened by the vile Forsaken's new weapon, sought to produce a more potent version; one that would obliterate anyone who opposed him.

Thus it came to be that the warrior and his company were suggested by Lord Itharius, representative of the Dreamwalker herself, to the Wyrmrest Accord to undertake such a mission to halt the productions overseen by Kel'thuzzad.

He had served Itharius in the past, clashing against Horde forces in the woods of Ashenvale. It was during those skirmishes that Nordal befriended the young draenei shaman Raelan and the impatient Gyram, a paladin of the Knight of the Silver Hand.

The three, while rather odd in racial differences, made a rather efficient team. Raelan kept his calm in most situations and was usually the mediator of the rather impudent human. Gyram, like many of his race, was outspoken and brash, which often more times than not created instigations between himself and Nordal, of whom the paladin so eloquently described as a 'proud yet secluded bastard of an elf.'

Golden eyes peered through snowy hair at the setting sun in the distance, their recent success at Naxxramas crossing his thoughts. The venture had caused the paladin to develop an even higher level of arrogance, if it were possible, and it soon became a source of constant annoyance to a certain _kal'dorei_ warrior.

Soon after departing Wintergarde Keep, Raelan, sensing his aggravation, suggested that Nordal report to Itharius while the other two continue onwards to Valgarde. There, they would wait for his return before departing Northrend for Menethil Harbor. Growing tired of Gyram's current 'enthusiastic' attitude, the night elf agreed and headed west along the road to Wyrmrest Temple.

Four days had passed since then and Nordal was finally on the outskirts of Valgarde. While the massive feline paused to stretch its back and front paws, a deep yawn escaped from its jaws. The night elf grinned, gently patting his saber.

"Almost there my friend, then we may rest well for the journey across the Great Sea is not a brief one."

Shaking its head in agreement, the frostsaber edged forward. As they came to the top of a hill overlooking a grove of tall pines, Nordal felt his steed go rigid. His gaze followed the saber's, straight into the heart of the trees. There, with his keen eyes, he spotted what appeared to be a vile servant of the Scourge in the midst of an onslaught against a smaller foe.

His weariness all but disappeared as the rage passed over him at the recognition of the victim as a she-elf. Observing her pale skin, the quick concern of whether she was cursed with the fel energy addiction like the _sin'dorei_ or of _quel'dorei_ noble blood dissipated quickly when the fight turned adamantly worse for her. The death-angel had pinned her into the ground with its massive wings, claws slashing as she tried to defend herself against the creature's assaults.

The battle-hardened warrior knew he would have only a small chance to strike a fatal blow to the val'kyr before she slaughtered the she-elf. Dismounting, he silently approached the scene, unseen by either participants, took his stance, and swung at the Lich King's minion.

He succeeded in severing the creature's arm from its body before she shrilled in agony and flayed her wings backwards, knocking the warrior to the ground and taking to the sky.

The breath knocked out of him, the gentle nudge of his mount against his face brought him back to reality. Apparently even servants of the Scourge knew when to retreat he mused before focusing his attention on the target of his rescue.

She lied unconscious, seemingly impaled into the ground several feet away. Nordal crawled forward until she was but a few inches before him. He noted the wounds to her arms and sides, the latter amidst of what remained of her mail chest-plate and shredded cloth bindings. while severe none were apparently fatal.

Nordal slowly reached his hand down to wake her, thinking of if his his steed could bare them both to the town. His fingers hovered barely above her cheek when his vision was suddenly overrun by a sea of black fur and bared fangs.


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three: The Hunter Becomes the Hunted**

The evening air was cool and the cries of ruffled crows and low growls stirred the huntress back to consciousness. Damn that val'kyr for being overly thorough with her work. Her vision blurred, she sensed Hayataro before her and it seemed he had returned in an even fouler mood.

A figure started to form in front of her, visions of white and black swarming her sight. She slowly reached out to grasp her wolf's raised hackles and heave herself off the damp ground. Proving more difficult than she anticipated, she cursed Hildana's name under her breath.

A deep voice brought her focus to the clearly visible night elf before her, his hand drawn back from Hayataro's snarling jaws.

"You shouldn't move around much milady. Your wounds are quite severe. I would help you to stand if this beast would allow me to approach you."

Cringing at the formality, the she-elf found her balance for a moment, before collapsing against the immense beast's side. Breath coming in heaves, she glanced at the man before her through tussled crimson strands, a forced smirk playing on her lips.

"You should considered yourself lucky warrior that he hasn't yet ripped the flesh from your bones. Hayataro rarely lets anyone, man or beast, come near me."

Somewhat offended at the insinuation that her wolf could do him harm so easily, Nordal reached forward, hoping to prove he was not one to be so easily intimidated. A quick snap of the wolf's jaw barely missed his hand. The following growls caused the she-elf to grin; she did not exaggerate the wolf's protective instincts over his mistress. Placing a calming hand over Hayataro's shoulders, she addressed the night-elf.

"Tell me warrior, surely you do not travel alone, for there is little chance a val'kyr of that stature could not be defeated single-handedly."

The doubting of his abilities and the mocking tone in her voice caused his rising irritation to surface. Her attitude, as was her beast's, was completely unacceptable considering the assistance he just provided. His glaring demeanor was only held in check with the simple reply that he was in fact alone. The she-elf sensed his frustration and smiled, letting out a small laugh, which confounded the warrior. Not two seconds prior she was insulting him and now she was laughing at his expense.

Deciding to benefit from her change of mood, he took careful note of her features. Her head only reached to his shoulder, her long firey hair falling down to her lower back. Her skin was pale and weight seemed lithe as was common of the elves that departed to the Eastern Lands long ago. His wonderings of her allegiance were answered as she stared at him with vibrant sapphire eyes. He thanked Elune that the elf he aided had not succumbed to the fel addiction characteristic of her _sin'dorei_ cousins. It was those eyes that seemed to enrapture him, calming his rage. He found it strange that his temperament could be so easily sedated by a simple look from this she-elf.

"And can I ask what your name is?"

Hayataro felt his mistress go rigid as the night elf questioned her. It had been many months, years in fact, since one asked to know her name. The use of the alias Arthas had so kindly bestowed on her had become the norm. Hesitantly wondering if she should give her name to those she met or not was not something she had considered. Deciding it would be easier to do so, she whispered her answer as if the wind would carry it away.

"Anariel…Anariel Bel'drassil."

Her earlier cringe at the formalities of addressing her as a lady had not gone unnoticed by the warrior. For her previous doubts against him, and the hostility she allowed from her beast as well, Nordal decided to increase her uneasiness and return the irritation she gave him by means of a small display of edicate with a bow.

"A daughter of the House of Suncrown. I am Nordal, of the House of Elune'iethon. It is a pleasure Lady Anariel."

When he rose, the irritation in her eyes was blatantly obvious. Clenching her jaw tight, she managed to stand up straight and find her footing. How dare he toy with her. The taunting in his addressing of her was evident. How was it that such insignificant formalities infuriated her so when spoken from his mouth. Curious as to these answers, she observed him, noting how different they were. It was a difference as of night and day. He towered over her by at least a foot, with her hair that mimicked raging flames, his own shone as white as the moon; Nordal's darkened skin seemed only to enhance his features, including his amber eyes, even more. They were, indeed, total opposites.

They're eyes met, Nordal grinning as the high elf's cheeks reddened at being caught admiring her so-called rescuer. She quickly looked away, collecting herself and remembering her objective.

"So what brings you to this part of these forsaken lands, son of Moonfang?" Her voice was removed, a chilled tone lying underneath.

"You mean besides aiding ungrateful hunters and their little dogs?" he jested.

The answering glares and growls were entertaining enough to lighten his mood even further. Stretching his arms to his full height, he sighed deeply as if the reminder of his journey's objectives was tiresome.

"Travels burdened for the sake of those higher than myself."

He then ventured to detail his company's journeying from the perils surrounding the eastern lands of Dragonblight, when he suddenly found her within inches of his body, an accusing finger pointed at his chest.

"So I was right," she interrupted.

"About?"

"About you not being alone."

Laughing at her persistence, he gazed upon her, deciding to indulge her pride.

"Only partly milady. My comrades and I had split long before I came upon you. They await me in Valgarde."

She removed her finger from its dug position in his chest, upon which he rubbed tenderly, yet she did not shift or move away.

"Call me Anariel…or Ana if you must, but refrain from titles or Hayataro will enjoy tongues for his meal tonight."

The way he stared at her unnerved the huntress, her body becoming unwillingly stagnant. That cocky smile still in place, her eyes narrowed slightly as the warrior leaned downward, towering above her, and whispered so low that only her elven hearing could perceive,

"So be it… Anariel."

The way he uttered her name made her spine shiver in such a way that displeased the hunter. Again she wondered how this common warrior could affect her so. Sensing her wonderings amongst her own thoughts, Nordal thought it best to journey onward. With a motion of his hand, his large frostsaber approached and knelt so the warrior could mount. Deciding to mess with her further, he reached down to offer assistance in taking a place behind him atop his saber.

A small frown crossed his face as Anariel took a step back and withdrew a small whistle from her pack. A few moments passed when the sound of hooves became apparent and a silver horse, a quel'dorei steed, took its place beside the she-elf. Gracefully mounting it, despite her injuries, Anariel smirked at him, taking the reigns in her hands and setting off in a slow gait, Hayataro following suit.

Smirking inwardly at her display, the warrior ushered his steed after the huntress, following step in step beside her. Anariel did not acknowledge his presence, refusing to say even a word. The silence between the two was unnerving to Nordal, as was wanting to know how the she-elf came to be in her previous predicament.

"And what about yourself? How did you end up entangled with a…"

"….with an ethereal witch with wings?"

He was admittedly taken aback by her bluntness.

"Well yes. It's not uncommon to see val'kyr near the town due to the imminence of Utgarde Keep, yet I find it odd for one to bother assaulting anything less than a battalion. To combat a single target is usually left to lesser minions."

She gazed into the distance for a moment, eyes narrowed as if troubled.

"You're right. But that particular Scourge-maiden had been tracking me for many nights after my travels from the Storm Peaks led me through the desolate vales of Valkyrion. Guess she took a liking to me."

The last part of her tale seemed to amuse the hunter, a smile spreading across her face, while leaving the warrior to dwell with his perplexed thoughts about the she-elf beside him.

* * *

A few quiet hours passed, with stolen glances taken from both sides.

At least they would've been for Anariel, if it weren't for Hayataro's persistent nagging on whether this 'weakling' was one of those who they were to gather information on. She soothed the beast to be calm, and reassured him that once they arrived in Valgarde, she would know for certain. His reply was a low grumble, asking if she felt safe enough in the company of this stranger for him to scout ahead.

_"Of course, my ever vigilant belthore."_

She smiled at him. While she undoubtably adored her wolf, his personality had become a bit overbearing of late, so she welcomed the small reprieve.

Nordal watched the exchange of growls and smiles with interest. He had heard rumors of the bond a hunter shares with their bestial guardians, but never had he witnessed it to such a degree as between these two. Unless he counted the relationship between his step-father and his _belthore_. He shook his head suddenly, both physically and mentally, not wanting to stir up certain memories. His attention was then brought back as he watched the wolf suddenly sprint ahead towards the horizon.

"What got into him?"

Shrugging with her shoulders as if she had no idea, she urged her mount into a gallop, trailing her _belthore's_ shadow. Turning over her shoulder, she called back to Nordal as he shrank in the distance.

"See if you can keep up."

_"So the hunter wants to become the hunted…"_ he mused. Patting his night-saber encouragingly, the two leapt forward, giving chase.

Soon the two elves became little more than blurs amongst the trees. The thrill of feeling the chaotic wind around her was invigorating after spending so long within frozen halls of the Citadel. Closing her eyes, she allowed her senses to overtake her, her mind lost in this sudden freedom. She could sense the pounding of Hayataro's paws against the earth in sync with her own heartbeat. They were one being amongst the wilds and rejoiced in returning one day to places untamed by mortals.

Her enjoyment was cut off, quite literally, by the broad shoulders of a certain night elf. He steered his mount to overcome hers, taking place in front, preventing her movements forward.

"The town is just ahead," he yelled over his shoulder.

Increasing her speed to out-ride him, she coaxed her mount into sprinting towards the gates of Valgarde. However, her steed's rapid movements suddenly sent a surge of pain through her body, which fell limp against the horse's neck, her vision overcome with bright lights that faded into blackness.

"Anariel!"

Nordal watched as the huntress lost consciousness and ushered the night-saber to her side as her weakened body fell towards the ground. His efforts to catch her before she touched the earth were rendered useless as a blur of black dashed forward, cutting him off. By the time he settled his saber, Hayataro stood protectively at full height, reaching easily up to Nordal's chest, his mistress safely secured on his back. The wolf's eyes stared at him, as if he were to blame for her current state.

Agitation now intertwined with concern, he pulled the reigns, ushering both his mount and the beast.

"Come, the gates are just ahead. She needs a healer immediately."

The three set off in a quick gait, Hayataro's troubled whimpering towards Anariel echoed through the woods as Nordal contemplated how one could share a bond so deep with another.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four: Its Never A Party Without A Surprise**

The tavern within Valgarde Inn was not unlike many of the others one could find throughout Azeroth. As night fell, travelers and locales alike would convene inside to drink away the night amongst tales of adventure or ones of a less savory nature. It was at a sturdy table half filled with tankards that Nordal slumped into a chair, weariness his most obvious trait at the moment. The bantering of its occupants were of little importance to him right now. Noticing the newcomer's moodiness, the pressure of a giant hand clasped against his shoulder caused Nordal to glance up at its owner. An appreciative smile was all the warrior managed as the draenei took note of his state. Rarely had Raelan ever seen his friend in such a manner.

"What is it Nordal? Did something happen on your journey from Wyrmrest?"

With a heavy sigh, the night elf took one of the full pints not yet claimed by the rowdy paladin across from him, and took a gulp.

"You could say that."

Slamming his latest conquered jug on the table, Gyram wiped his chin stubbled with red fuzz, grinning.

"I should have followed you little elf. I knew something was bound to happen where you would need rescuing."

Returning the grin, glad for once to have the familiarity of bantering from the human, the warrior leaned forward.

"On the contrary Lord Talonforth, it was I who came to the rescue of another."

Gyram seemed amused, snickering at the idea of the elf rescuing anyone.

"Squirrels do not count."

Curiosity overtaking him, the shaman decided to interrupt this too often ritual and question Nordal on what happened on his way to Valgarde. Taking another gulp of ale, smirk still in place, the night elf reclined against the back of his chair, seemingly relaxed.

"Well earlier this day, I was riding near the ridges that surround the town when I came upon a most bizarre sight…"

"Your mother?" the paladin teased.

"Gyram please," begged the draenei, his hand hiding the shame as using such humor.

"If it were my mother I'm sure the result would have been the same regardless. It was none other than one of the Lich King's cursed winged val'kyr….attempting to slaughter an elf maid."

A look of concern crossed Raelan's face. It was rare to find a night elf so far from their beloved forests of northern Kalimdor, unless they were like the one sitting next to him. But a she-elf unaccompanied amidst the wilds of Northrend?

"A _kal'dorei _maid? Alone out here?"

Nordal leaned forward to them both, barely uttering over a whisper, as if worried he would be overheard.

"No…not one of my people. She is one of the remaining _quel'dorei._"

* * *

The cool night air breezed in through the unlatched window, sheer drapes dancing in the movement. The stirring of her own firey strands as they tickled her face caused Anariel to wake.

For a moment, she did not remember where she was. Then the soreness she felt when she adjusted her arm brought her memories back clear as morning. Belittling herself for such weakness, Anariel attempted to lean upright, the pain traveling through her sides seemed dulled, but were there nonetheless. It was then she noticed her undershirt and chest plate had been replaced with bandaging, the smell of antiseptic soaking through. She took note of the places where blood had already began to seep.

While tracing the cloth bindings on her upper arms, a frown crossed her features as she tried to recall what exactly had happened earlier. She remembered the flight of trees around her, the hooves of her mount trampling beneath her, and the calls of a deep voice behind her as she goaded him on. Then nothing.

Hayataro paced before her, paws padding heavily against the wooden floor, not bothering to hide the concern in his stature. He turned towards her, eyes baring into her own. The look on her face revealed she remembered nothing of his carrying her as she lied unconscious upon his back. He knew his mistress well, her pain he bore as his own, therefore he couldn't understand her actions earlier. They were so unlike her.

_"You were careless Ana. You pushed yourself too far after letting that val'kyr have her way with you, which I still don't understand why you allowed such a thing to begin with. Now you can barely move…"_

_"I will be alright. I've suffered much worse…we both have. The soreness will ease in a day or so."_

Stretching his massive body as if to relieve the very soreness she spoke of, Hayataro sighed at her dismissive stubbornness when it came to injuries. She had been that way since she was a child, never allowing pains to overcome her until her body could not handle it a second longer. While admirable, it was a source of constant worry with him. Deciding not press the issue further, the reason of all that had happened crossed his mind. He walked over and rested his head against her covered leg.

_"So just how do you plan on carrying out this assignment given the current state of things?"_

Absently playing with his fur, she remembered the night elf having mentioned companions awaiting him at the inn.

_"It depends. I take we are at the Valgarde inn, did you happen to notice whether the rest of the warrior's company were here?"_

The wolf's eye narrowed at the mentioning of the _kal'dorei_.

_"I might have gotten a glimpse of two others before the healer and maid ushered me up here with you to attend to your injuries."_

Noticing her pack beside the bed, Anariel reached downward to remove the rune Arthas had given her as a means of communicating with the Citadel. She paused as her gaze was drawn to the flickering of the candle on the stand beside her. Next to it lay fresh bandages along with a plate of freshly baked bread with raspberries and a pitcher of steaming honeymint tea. Her armor, bow, and quiver were placed against the dresser. Her eyes then traveled to a shimmering tunic lain over a plush reading chair. Crawling to the end of the bed, she reached over to pick it up. The silk slid smoothly under her fingertips, the silver lace, intricately woven, seemed to come to life under the flame light of the candle.

Watching her eyes glaze over as she lost herself in secluded thoughts, Hayataro sneeringly bared his canines, his dislike of the garment and its provider apparent.

_"That is courtesy of your so called hero." _

* * *

A look of shock washed over the shaman's face, words escaping him. He had very few encounters with the high elves, being somewhat known as a secluded lot.

"Was she difficult?"

Gyram snorted into his pint, mouth agape as he put the tankard on the wooden surface.

"What elf isn't?"

Glaring at the jab at his race, distant or otherwise, Nordal turned back towards his confident.

"A tad. Perhaps stubbornly prideful would be a better description. The only real trouble was her blasted wolf."

"Ah so she's a huntress…" Raelan mused.

During his shamanistic training, he had many dealings with the rangers of the wild. The two callings both held nature in high regard, so he often witnessed the dexterity that their animal companion had to protect its master. A humorous smile forming, he tried to imagine his persistent friend overstepping the instincts of the beast's primal guardianship.

"Am I right in guessing the beast was overprotective?"

Leaning back into his chair, gaze directed up at the cedar beams of the ceiling, the warrior remembered the disgruntled manners Hayataro held against him, even when he was merely trying to help Anariel.

"The bloody canine wouldn't allow me to approach her, even when her injuries took a turn for the worse. Never have I felt such a mixture of aggravation and helplessness all at once."

Dragging a roughened hand over his face, it was evident that the tiredness of the day seemed to have caught up with the night elf. The two sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

Soon the mutterings of an excessively drunk paladin about a bathroom were heard as were his footsteps as he stumbled upstairs to locate one.

* * *

After asking Hayataro to go observe Nordal and his company from afar, mainly for a little peace from his lecturing, Anariel decided to wash her wounds once more before redressing. A basin and glass pitcher of water sat atop the dresser. Moving her gear, she carefully removed the stained bandages. The claws of Hildana left numerous crimson gashes crossing her right side and others along her left arm.

Pouring the lukewarm water into the basin, she dipped a washcloth until it was immersed and wrought the excess drops. She lifted her right arm above her head, gently cleansing the cuts that disfigured her paled skin. Taking the antiseptic left by the healer, she spread it on the inside of the fresh cloth bandages. Once her upper arm was rewrapped, she began on her torso. She hissed at the touch of the medicine against her wounds.

Until her attention was brought away from the pain as the door to her room was suddenly knocked in, a drunken human leaning against the frame, his eyes wide in surprise.


End file.
